


Broken Bones, Heart Of Stone

by Wintress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Dark Steve Rogers, M/M, On the Run, Stalking, Unreliable Narrator, Winter Soldier!Bucky, alternative universe, bucky is just starting to come to his senses, bucky just wants some goddamn peace, evading capture like a boss, future dead dove do not eat, future explicit scenes, heed the tags, if you can even call it that, posessiveness, steve defects to hydra but it's not what you think, steve is posessive and ruthless, these two are highly skilled so this game of cat and mouse is gonna get DANGEROUS, this is not a happy fic, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-07-09 11:49:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wintress/pseuds/Wintress
Summary: When Steve spends his day giving new Hydra cadets the tour of their HQ, he has no idea that it will set in motion a chain of events that include an escaped asset, a dead STRIKE agent, and a promotion.He'll do anything to bring Bucky in; and so begins a deadly game of cat and mouse.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [surfaces](https://archiveofourown.org/users/surfaces/gifts).



> Please heed the tags: this is a love story, but it's not a nice one. The rating and tags will be adjusted as the story progresses, be aware there will be explicit scenes, both violent and sexual, and there will be depictions of unhealthy relationship dynamics. If this is something that upsets you please do not read any further: I wanted to explore what it would be like if all of the qualities that make Steve admirable - his stubbornness, his resourcefulness, his single-minded drive - were honed in a negative way by joining Hydra to keep watch on Bucky.
> 
> A bit of housekeeping before we begin: this is set in an AU where Steve had the serum, but joined Hydra instead. They still take Bucky against his will. Together they're part of STRIKE team Alpha, and Steve is his handler. The Avengers exist and are still trying to bring Hydra down, but they're much more widespread than in the MCU and comics, and all the more formidable for having Captain Roger's and the Winter Soldier on their side. 
> 
> I'll be updating chapters every Monday! Many thanks to the wonderful Surfaces for her tireless beta-ing, cheerleading, and for screaming about dark!Steve with me.

Leading the rookies around on a guided tour of their bunker isn't exactly how Steve had wanted to spend his Friday, but then again it beats any other plans he'd had. Writing up mission reports, training, cleaning his guns, probably eventually ending up sprawled across the long couch in his room watching Hell's Kitchen reruns. At least giving the newest cadets from the Academy a nickel tour of their new station will keep his mind busy, distract him until STRIKE team Alpha return from their latest mission. Normally he leads them, but this is a small op and requires the utmost discretion, and Steve is still recovering from a bullet wound from a few weeksback; Rumlow is leading point and he knows the Asset will keep him in line. Besides, Steve likes to learn new recruit's names early, pick out the weakest to focus on building up, weeding out the jokers to make examples of. He won't tolerate anything less than the best under his watch, and according to their submission papers, all twenty-three members of Unit 162 from the Academy (currently following him around like ducklings in black military fatigues) are exceptional.

They will be, he thinks, and resolves to make sure of it. There's no room for imperfection in Hydra, and Steve prides himself on his spotless record as Captain. 

So far they've covered the basics: training buildings, medbay, the expansive gym, rec rooms, debrief areas, the entire floor dedicated to an array of weaponry so vast that even Steve hasn't seen it in its entirety, the mess hall, and the dorms. Steve has been here since it opened, moving from the vast subterranean division in DC to this huge state-of-the-art station in upstate New York eight months ago and he's been running a tight ship ever since. This is their first round of recruits at this location, and as Steve leads them out of the main elevator and into the labs to cap off the tour, he's already thinking of drills he can spring on them to see what he's working with as soon as it's over.

"...And this is our Science Division, which you're unlikely to see properly until a few years down the line." Steve leads them into the main corridor and stops at parade rest, barring them from venturing further down the hall. The good stuff is deeper underground, but they don't know that, and Steve lets himself smirk a little at the memory of trading urban legends of the horrors in Hydra's Science Division as a fresh-faced cadet; the legends don't compare to the reality. So much worse. These kids have no idea. "Like most of the Armoury Floor, this area is restricted until you're officially designated a position down here. That could be anything from grunt work to specific protection detail."

"Protection detail?" One of the rookies - Manning, he thinks he's called - isn't subtle about trying to peer past Steve's broad shoulders and down the corridor. He can feel one of the two soldiers guarding the door to the lab behind him shift warily. "What do they do down here, sir?" 

"It's on a need to know basis, cadet." Steve says sharply, before flashing a knowing smile. "Loyalty and experience breeds trust, and when you've proven yourself as a valuable part of this organisation you can be privy to some of our more... inscrutable projects." He lets them relax and murmur impressed rumblings among one another before folding his arms and continuing. 

"Hydra employs some of the best scientists in their field. Some of them are unable to work in their own countries for various reasons -" He's reminded of the innocuous-looking physicist who had a bounty on his head for creating an inter dimensional portal and throwing his Prime Minister into it. " - Hydra provides them a secure environment to conduct their work in exchange for their co-operation in our endeavours as an organisation. Without their tireless efforts and brilliant minds we wouldn't have some of the technology or weaponry we have today. That isn't the extent of the work they do down here, but you'll find out soon enough. Maybe."

Manning nods, grinning. "So they're not your run-of-the-mill chemistry geeks, huh?"

"Hydra aren't exactly famous for being run-of-the-mill for anything now, Manning, are we?" 

The cadet chuckles, seemingly satisfied for now. Steve likes him, he thinks; reminds him of himself back in the day. He makes a mental note to keep an eye on his progress.

They begin to jostle and shift, taking the subtle hint that this part of the tour is over and making their way back to the elevator. Steve is considering barking an order for 40 burpees before the elevator reaches the ground floor when the double doors to his left slam open and release a cacophony of yelling and stomping boots.

"Out of the way!" One of the STRIKE team snarls at them, barging past to clear a path and then snapping at the soldiers guarding the lab doors. "Get Lenkov, we got a situation here!" 

It takes Steve a second to realise the dead weight they're trying to carry between four of them is the Asset. It's like a bucket of ice water dumped in his gut.

_Bucky._

Steve strides past the rookies, who have pressed against the wall to let STRIKE team Alpha pass and are watching them fill the lab with shouts and grunts. Bucky is heavier than the average man thanks to the gleaming cybernetic arm Hydra fitted him with all those years ago, and the extra armature screwed to his bones to help support it, so it takes all four agents to heft him into the huge chair taking up the centre of the room. Steve's mind is buzzing and he struggles to think coherently for the freezing heat of panic filling his chest; Bucky usually returns from missions coated in all manner of grime (sometimes mixed with other people's blood depending on the elimination objective), and occasionally he'll return to base nursing the odd broken bone or rogue bullet wound, but much like Steve he heals quick. 

The state Bucky's in now? 

He's got the serum to thank that he's even breathing..

Lucky for Alpha that Bucky _is_ drawing breaths. They're shallow, imperceptible but for a faint gurgling deep in his chest. There's a moment where Steve stands paralyzed by the lab door, while one of the guards yells down his comms unit for Bucky's full med team to haul as to the lab. A moment where Bucky's chest stops its unsteady rise and fall and he thinks _this is it, Bucky's dead, he's going._ All that panic blending his thoughts and making him dizzy gets pushed down with a heavy boot, suppressed harder and faster until Steve can focus on taking in the damage done to the Asset - _his_ Asset.

A rivulet of blood snakes its way from a deep gash across Bucky's forehead, winding down and following his cheekbone, chasing the curve of his half-mask. There are dozens of tips and tears in his leather suit, across his chest and shoulders, and a split on the flank of his trousers. The wound beneath it oozes sluggishly. His eyelids flicker and he coughs and stutters before stilling once more; the rattle is gone from his chest. He's healing. Slowly.

He should never have gotten hurt in the first place.

This wouldn't have happened if Steve had been there.

Steve's vision swims for a brief moment as guilt twists to rage and rises like bile in his throat. He trusts them with one mission without him - _one fucking mission_ \- and they can't even handle that. It was supposed to be a simple assassination, a single sniper shot through a skylight, eliminate a senator who had been lobbying for more funds to smoke Hydra out of their vast underground warren. His team fucked up: that sits like lead in his belly. Not only have they fucked up and that reflects badly on him as their leader, as a Captain within Hydra, they've allowed harm to come to Bucky. 

He doesnt rise to it, though. As much as he wants to. To bubble and broil and explode in a mushroom cloud of pure fury. He's always had a horrific temper; he's just gotten better at refocusing it over the years. He storms up to STRIKE Alpha as Lenkov and his team of lab assistants swarm around the Asset, and all six agents snap to attention. 

"Explanation. _No_ _w_." 

Rumlow, his second in command, steps forward. His scarred face remains deliberately blank as he relays the mission; after some unexpected interference from the senator's security team, the Asset took off as soon as he made the shot, and when they gave chase he just wasn't fast enough. Steve listens while watching the techs work on Bucky out the corner of his eye, insert an IV and dress his wounds. By the time Rumlow gets to the part where they had to haul him into the chopper and stem his bleeding, Steve's temper is threatening to spill over with roiling outrage.

"....and to add insult to injury, word on the police scanners is the Senator lives." He doesn't missthe calculated bland, almost bored tone Rumlow reports in. His Second is careful not to sound accusatory or disdainful when it comes to the Asset. The silvery pits and troughs marring Rumlow's features are a painful reminder of the last time he tried complaining about Bucky within earshot of Steve.

The Captain nods slowly, sucking a breath through his teeth and walking away from his team and rounding back to the rookies. Eyes to the floor, he can only see their shoes where they're rooted to the floor near the opening of the lab. Some first day, he thinks. He's trying to stay calm, collect his thoughts. Be _rational_ , he tells himself, though he rarely is when it comes to Bucky. 

Steve only stops his pacing when he spots a smear of blood leading to the chair from Bucky's boot. "Now, stop me if I'm wrong here, but it sounds like you're telling me that your first and only mission without me has not only resulted in a failed termination, but you left witnesses _and_ somehow managed to almost allow Hydra's Asset to become incapacitated. Does that sound about right, Commander Rumlow?" 

The man in front of him snaps to attention, and swallows lightly. Trying to hide his nerves. "Yes, Captain."

"You realise that you've made a complete mockery of STRIKE Team Alpha, don't you." Not a question, but Steve still expects an answer. Rumlow is visibly starting to fluster, red patches colouring the tips of his ears and neck amongst the scarring. 

"Yes Captain."

"You've put Hydra at risk."

"Yes Captain."

Steve clasps his hand behind his back, feeling his lips thin and his brows furrow as he leans into Rumlow's space. He's deliberately looking away, staring hard at a patch on the wall, away from Steve to his left and Bucky being worked on to his right. The air is filled with tension, Rumlow's fear. Anticipation from the rookies. Musical tinkering from the lab assistants tools as they remove bullet after bullet from Bucky's body.

Lenkov raises his head at the perfect moment. "All hardware removed. Healing factor's kicking in." He punctuates this with dropping the final bullet into the kidney dish with a tinny clang and peels his gloves off. "He's going to be fine, Captain."

The tidal wave of relief doesn't show on Steve's face, he's careful not to let it. Instead he stares down members of STRIKE Alpha one by one until the urge is too strong, and he rounds on Bucky. As he carefully strokes damp hair back from his grimy face, he's dimly aware of one of the newbies talking to STRIKE in hushed tones behind him.

"So who's that?" 

"The Asset. He's used for covert ops, works closely with Captain Rogers." A voice he recognises as Agent Ford replies curtly.

"Huh. He looks kinda fucked up." Steve perks up at this, feeling indignant irritation at the rookies careless words. He pretends to be absorbed in checking Bucky over, watching the now-steady rise and fall of his chest in his uniform while he listens. 

"Mm." Ford hums. Footsteps. "I wouldn't get too close, if I were you." 

"Why not?"

"He's...unpredictable." 

"Aww, he looks like a drowned cat. Can't be that bad." 

Steve senses the rookie reaching out and and whirls round, grabbing the rookies wrist and snapping it cleanly in one rapid motion. He screams, and Steve drags him close so he can hear his low, calm tone of voice.

"Try touching him again and you'll lose that hand." 

He drops him, and the new cadets scramble to pick him up. Lenkov sighs heavily and goes to check his wrist. Steve glares full force at the grouping before turning to his team for a more detailed debrief. A lab tech adjusts the Assets drip before bending down to a tablet on the table beside him, scribbling notes.

In the commotion, no one sees when the Asset's eyes snap open. They dart around and quickly close again before anyone can notice.


	2. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky is wide awake.
> 
> TW for dubious consent and dissociation.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Buck." 

He's in the Captain's quarters - 

_Steve. He asked me to call him Steve._

\- and everything hurts. He almost wishes his memory functionality hadn't improved over the years, because at least he wouldn't be reliving every second of the failed mission. Before, he would have been punished and wiped and then that would be that. Blank slate. He wouldn't have remembered why he was healing a cut across the back of his neck or why his fingers ached with the tell-tale ghosts of broken bones. It just was, and he would have accepted that without question. Like everything.

But that was before Captain Rogers.

_steve steve steven grant steve rogers im here buck_ _its really me im here stevestevesteve_

He had explained how he worked his way back into Bucky's life not long before he had been promoted to Asset Handler. It had been complicated, with hard work and little twists and lies on Steve's part and very little on Bucky's. He can't really recall, all he knows is he's here now and according to the Captain he wouldn't be going anywhere. 

_not if i can help it, buck i lost you once and i won't lose you again_

Before Steve, he was a thing. A human-shaped bomb aimed at history and primed and timed to immolate and destroy and shape the world for Hydra. He's been coming back to himself though. Slowly growing and questioning everything in his mind. Forming his own thoughts instead of letting his masters think for him. Doubting every piece of information he's ever been told

_youre shaping the world soldier youre the fist of hydra and youre the key to helping us create a better society we will rise and bring the human race into a new era_

_nnnn_

and with more distrust and suspicion he blooms into a fully realised human. He's not all the way there yet. Not all of his petals have unfurled. 

But he is almost ready.

Tonight. When that agent instantly assumed he was nothing more than an empty shell

_youre a weapon a loaded gun youre the asset and we decide where to point and shoot_

it insulted him. Then he realised he had the capacity to feel hurt by more than fists and weapons

_we gave you the bullets you are the gun you'd be useless without us you need us_

and he could be wounded with words. He has self-worth now. There may not be much, but it's there

_just remember we don't need you once you have outlived your use you will be destroyed like a lame horse like a cow put out to pasture_

_weapons dont last forever soldier_

and that's important, somehow. It's human.

That's when he decided: tonight. He'll do it tonight.

"You with me?" 

Of course he is. He absorbs everything, every sound, every smell, every light touch and hard punch like a sponge. He may look blank and empty on the outside but it is carefully constructed. Steve doesn't seem to have noticed the slow blooming of Bucky Barnes; Rogers has a blind spot a mile wide when it comes to him, and he's counting on it to carry out his plans.

_Look at that, lying and manipulating. Couldn't have done this a few years back, huh? I never thought I'd get this far. Now to see how far I can go._

He shivers involuntarily at the idea of freedom

_getoutgetoutgetgogogogo_

and instantly freezes up. He knows Steve didn't miss that. 

"Hey, are you cold? Fuck, of course you are - they didn't dry you off and it was raining cats and dogs - here, let me just -"

A light weight settles around his shoulders. Soft wool tickles the sensitive skin of his collarbone, exposed above his plain vest. It smells like floral detergent, yellow and gentle. So unlike the man who's room he's sitting in.

"Better?" Steve crouches in front of him, arms resting on the knee pads of his combat trousers. He nods in reply, and Steve smiles before continuing. 

"Like I say, I didn't want you to see all that. But he won't get near you again. I'll make sure of it. And you won't be going on another mission without me, not if they're gonna let you get hurt."

He says nothing in reply. Carefully blank and lax, allowing his tension to thrum hidden deep within. He's so close: his window of opportunity is slim, but he's going to grab it with both hands. He can't do this any more.

Steve smiles at him, the gentle curve of his lips only soft thing about him. When he removes his helmet, he thumbs the red Hydra sigil before setting it on his side table. Steve telegraphs his movements, deliberate and steady, and rests a hand on his bare leg.

He balks. Can feel a surge of anxiety, the instinct to shrink back from the weight of his hand or jump up from the sofa and away from Steve so strong that he messes up again and winces. Steve frowns; he isn't worried though, he knows the frown drawing in that pretty face isn't for him. Instead of moving his hand though, Steve squeezes his knee in what he must think is a fond gesture.

It just makes him want to crawl out of his skin. He wants that contact - is desperate for it, especially from Steve - but it's too much

_toomuchtoomuchtoomuchTOOMUCH_

_sir we cant allow you to take him he needs to be prepped for_ _cryo_

_hes been through enough dont you think_

_its against protoc -_

_i decide whats protocol when it comes to him i set the procedures i set the rules of his care and right now the best thing for him is to be with me how do you expect him to be functional when he isnt even_

_Steve cares for me. He says he only wants what's best and sometimes I believe him. Sometimes I wonder if this is just another deception designed to keep me compliant._

_But how can I doubt that when he's constantly fighting my corner?_

_nnnnnnnn_

_captain rogers you know what happens when hes out for too long we cant risk that_

_are you questioning me because from where im standing all I can see is a fucking lab monkey whining about not getting their own way to a decorated commander of this organisation_

_no sir not at all it's just_

_hes coming with me and ill return him tonight after he has received more adequate care than whatever shit show you got going on in your dirty fucking dungeon set up you got going on here i should have you shot for your insubordinance you know all it would take is a word to the director and then youd be_

_no no please sir i apologise of course you can take_

_thats what I thought we are not to disturbed do you understand_

_yes sir_

_good now get the fuck out of my way_

_nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn_

"Aw hell, you really took a beating today. I know how that affects you Buck. C'mere, I ran you a bath, we'll get you cleaned up."

_He actually walked out of there, defied procedure and took me in because he thinks I deserve comfort. He treats me like I'm human._

_But he also takes too much. I cant say to him, he beats himself up for it. It's either this or a hose down from the techs when Rogers leaves._

_lesserlesserlesslessless_

_Lesser of two evils._

_But he does care though. I dont_

_dontdontdont_

_Know why though. Maybe it'll come back to me._

_nnnnnnnn_

Steve stands and gently takes his hand. Leads him like a child to a large round bath tub in his spacious bathroom where the air is heavy and hot and sweet with bath oils.

He has been here before, been washed by Steve before 

_you gotta wash the blood out your hair buck we're meeting with the director tomorrow cant have my best guy looking like a scruff can i_

sometimes he enjoys it, sometimes the feeling of hands on him that have no intention to hurt, to maim, to probe and peel, leave him blank for a while. Like dejavu but he can't grasp what it reminds him of - the memories run like rabbits in a meadow, darting just out of reach into the darkness ahead.

He always comes back to himself gasping and sweating.

Steve peels the blanket off him, and methodically strips him of his vest and shorts.

_nonotoomuchstopdonttouchme_

Large calloused hands help lower him into water so warm it seeps into his bones, loosens his muscles. New wounds sting and soothe as he adjusts to the temperature.

"There we are, how's that water for you? Too hot?"

_Just right, Stevie. Just right._

_Steve. Stevie. Steviesteviesteviessssst_

"God, we'd have killed for a tub like this before." Steve's hands skate through the water, brushing his thigh

_toomuchtoomuch_

_what i wouldnt give for a hot bath right now stevie i stink like that dead horse jim mccormack pulled out the river back home_

_before_

_nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn_

He closes his eyes. Hopes Steve will think he's trying to relax. The heat forms sticky beads of sweat in a garland around his hairline, but his insides are gripped in icy fists.

A heavy hand on his shoulder. Steve's deep voice murmuring right beside his ear, closer than he'd thought. "You're so tense. How about I rub your shoulders before we get you cleaned up? That'd be nice, huh?" 

_tooclosepotentialthreattooclose_

_It's Steve. He's not a threat. He's doing something nice for memmmmmmmeeeeeeee_

_nicenicenicenicennn_

_nnnnnnnnNNNN_

_looking sharp tonight buck real nice whos the hot date with this time_

_nnnnnnnnicenicccccccnnnnice_

_youre so pretty when youre all trussed up like this like the fuckin pig you are yeah so pretty just for me youre killin me with those eyes no wonder rogers is so gone on you im gonna fuck you up real nice and if youre good and dont scream I might even clean you up after_

_Wait. Don't touch me. I don't want it. Don't -_

Steve brushes his hair from his shoulders with his finger tips. He feels himself screw his eyes shut, trying to stave off the inevitable. The ends of his hair are wet; they curl up and tickle his chin when Steve digs his thumbs into the meat of his neck.

_nnnnnnnnnnnnnNNNNNNNNNNNN_

"You're so tense. Don't worry sweetheart, I've got you."

_nnnNNNNNNNNN_

_Please - no, I can't handle you touching me like -_

_aw christ youre too good at this sweetheart god bucky please_

_Please pppppllllllllpleasepleasemoremorenowaittoomuchstop_

_stopstopssssssssss_

_fuck yes thats it a bit lower oh oh fuck right there right there sweetheart keep going dont you dare stop_

_stopsssstoppppstopstoststopssssstopstopstossssssss_

_nnnnnnnnnnnNNNNNNNN_

_NO._

He floats. He is nothing. He is nebulous and non-existent and, more importantly, not here.

He lost time again. He comes back to himself slowly, like waking from a deep sleep. 

Steve sets down a boar bristle hair brush. The wooden clatter it makes against the bedside table is almost musical. He's dry now, in soft grey sweats and one of Steve's t shirts. It smells warm and spicy and just like Rogers.

_He only wants the best for me._

"There. Bet you feel a million times better."

He still won't meet his eyes; he's still groggy, between here and there and nowhere at all.

_helovesusbutinthwrongway_

Steve sighs and sits in front of him once more, like before. He doesn't touch him.

_He knows you went under again, he don't wanna set you off. Because he cares. Because he lovvvvvv_

_Because he cares._

He knows all of this, but he can't trust it. If he wants to get out of here he has to be smart. Ruthless.

_He wants the best for me. But he doesn't really know what I need._

_I need out._

_outoutoooouuuutttttt_

And if he wants to get out, he has to utilise his both the skills trained into him and his newly-rediscovered capabilities. Steve is a whole person, as flawed as he is. Humanity brings weakness. Weakness can be exploited.

And that's exactly what he plans to do. 

"I know they haven't got you back on solids yet...so I got you a little treat for being so good."

He knows exactly what the treat is. It's time. He lets his eyes drift up from Steve's boots, up his thickly muscled body, crouched before him

_readytopounceorsubmission_

to his face - so sweet, open and soft. He is rarely verbal these days, doesn't see the point in speaking when only one person values his opinion. They get by with nods and sign language when he wants to; he's already anticipated the effect that more deliberate communication will have on Steve. He keeps eye contact, watches for the tiny smile curling Steve's full lips.

He nods. 

Steve practically springs up, striding through to the kitchen, and that's when he takes his chance.

_One window of opportunity don't waste it -_

He pounces to where his clothes lay piled on the floor, dumped unceremoniously when Steve had stripped the bloody cloth off him as sloan as he'd shut his door behind them. There, tucked in one of the pockets of his combats, are four innocuous looking yellow pills.

_The strong ones, for when I'm too violent for an IV. Specially tailored to an enhanced human like me. Or like Steve. I only need one to put me down for a few hours. Four should be like he's been hit with a dose of elephant tranquilizer._

_gogogorunhurryupsteeeeeve_

He palms then as he hears the fridge door bang shut from the kitchen, and is settled back on the bed as though nothing happened when Steve strides through. He looks pleased with himself, carrying two tall glasses of milkshake.

_Perfect._

"I know it's bit sweeter than your nutrient solution, and all they had was the shitty instant stuff that's all watery - but I figured you deserve a reward." Steve's little grin is genuine, and it almost hurts his heart to see how deeply he feels about him.

Almost.

Steve hands him one, and raises his glass in mock salute. "Cheers!" 

_theglassisthickandtheresasturdylipandhandleifwehititwithapproximatelyfourpoundsofforceata37degreeangleitshouldjust_

He calculates it in a flash, and when he clinks his glass with Steve's it shatters immediately, coating Steve's hand in chocolate milkshake. 

_wefuckedupohgodweregonnagetintroubleohshitohshit_

_Shut up. This is the plan. It's fine._

They both stare for a second before he makes a show of dropping to his knees and trying and collect the thick shards of glass. 

"No, Bucky don't, you'll cut yourself, here -" Steve kneels over and starts picking it up, just like he'd planned. He wouldn't want any harm to come to him, metal arm or no

_NOW._

He crushes the tablets easily between his thumb and forefinger. Sprinkles the powdered pills into the milkshake, swirling into dislodge any lumps. The last of it dissolves as Steve dumps the glass into a swing lid trash can near the table, dusting his hands off with a laugh. "Think we forget how strong we are sometimes., huh buddy?"

_Showtime._

He furrows his brows, slackens his jaw and looks up at Steve with what he hopes can pass for worry and fear.

"I'm sorry."

It barely comes out in a whisper, but it rasps his disused vocal chords all the same. And it lands like a bullseye, punching the breath out his intended target.

_Bingo._

"What - no, no buddy, you got nothing to be sorry for, it was an accident." Steve waves his hands placatingly. He jabs a thumb toward the kitchen, already walking backward as he talks. "I've got a whole tub, I'll just make some more!"

_Wait fuck no that's not part of the plan_

_theplannonononowaitfuckfuckkkfuck_

"Wait!" He croaks. Steve stops in his tracks.

He raises his glass, gesturing it meaningfully toward Steve. He almost thinks he's got him, but he needs to seal the deal. "Please."

Steve drops to the bed beside him

_sowarmalwaysranhotevenwhenhewasonlysmmmmmmall_

presses them close, thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder.

"It's your reward, sweetheart." Steve says, searching his face. 

"This..." he swallows. Words are like razors in his throat. "Is yours." He meets Steve's eyes, and forces his lips up in a tiny smile. 

_willhewillhewillhe_

"Too sweet for me. Please, Stevie."

_Of course he'll take it. He can't say no to me._

He's right. Steve beams at him like he's been offered the keys to the city, takes the proffered glass

_yesyesyesssssdrinkitlalldrinkdrink_

and makes a show of gulping the drugged milkshake down, his Adam's apple bobbing in his pale throat.

_yeesssssSSSSSSS_

Steve obnoxiously smacks his lips together and grins; chocolate milk smeared across his beard. He forces his smile bigger, bumps his shoulder against Steve's.

"We should get you back soon, they'll be wondering where you are."

_That's okay. I'll be long gone by the time they notice._

He slowly lowers his head onto Steve's shoulder, soaking in the warmth through his thick black uniform. This touch is wanted; a thank you for the little things over the years, a goodbye of sorts. He even allows Rogers to caress his back, calluses catching every so often on his t shirt. His mind doesn't scream, doesn't blare with static and panic and conflicted needs and wants. His mission objective has been achieved and he will progress onto the next step: retrieving the backpack he stole from Rumlow and stowed behind a huge computer server upstairs. There's plenty supplies and weaponry and money for him inside. Gradually pilfered whenever he got the chance over the past year.

He is nothing if not patient, which is why he is happy to wait in silence as Steve's breathing deepens. As his hand slows its rhythmic rubbing on his back. As his body eventually slumps against him, and the pills drag him under and leech his consciousness.

When he stands, Steve lists to the side and flops dead weight on the bed.

He doesn't look back.

This time, as he steals out of Rogers' quarters and deep into the facility, his smile is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bucky. I'm sorry!  
> So there's going to be a few narrative shifts - sometimes we focus on Steve, sometimes it's Bucky. At the moment I am deliberately not having Bucky refer to himself by name, as he still doesn't think of himself as a person. Hopefully it's obvious while reading but if not please let me know and I can add chapter notes to clarify! As always your kind words and comments are greatly appreciated, this isn't the usual kind of thing I write and I would love some feedback! See you all next week :)


	3. 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Asset is gone, and Steve's in deep shit.

Steve normally wakes up instantly.

There's no slow return to consciousness, no bleed from dreams to reality. One minute he's sleeping and the next he's wide awake; it's useful in the field, trained into him from years of wartime and recon missions.

Today though, he's being roused from a deep dreamless sleep by a familiar voice, and he can't quite drag himself out of it.

"Cap...? Come on man, wake up -"

His eyelids don't want to slide open, and whatever light seeps through as they flutter in his struggle to waken pierces his skull like an ice pick.

" - is fucking unbelievable... Rogers, _get up._ " 

"...Buck?" Steve groans. He rubs his eyes. His hands can't even form fists yet; he's moving through sludge.

"Not quite, Romeo. Come on." A firm hand grips his arm, helps him sit up, holds him firm when he sways on the bed.

"S'going on?" slurs Steve. He rubs his eyes with the heel of his hand, blinking blearily. The face swimming before him isnt Bucky. When he realises it's Rumlow, he tenses. 

Something's wrong.

"Welcome back, Cap." He smirks. There's no humor behind it though, his eyes are tight and it looks more like a grimace. "You were out like a light."

"Wha...?" Steve's vision clears some more, and he takes in the scene around him: he's in his rumpled uniform, sat on top of his duvet. The rest of the room is exactly as it was, with Bucky's towel on the floor and the empty glass of milkshake on his side table. Nothing innocuous...that is, until he notices his front door. Its hanging off its hinges, with splinters dotting the floor.

"Sir, it's the Asset. He's gone."

Steve's stomach freezes. Bucky can't be gone, he was just here, he's -

He's nowhere to be seen.

Steve bolts to his feet and immediately regrets it when his world lurches to the left. He grips the wall, inching his way along until he can see into the hall outside. There's nothing there except more wood fragments and a smear of blood down the wall. 

"What happened?" He demands, although the authority is lost a little when his voice wavers. He's confused, slow, and can't seem to stand upright alone. The fuck is going on?

"C'mere," Rumlow sighs, moving to hoist Steve's arm over his shoulders. "We can talk on the way." Steve shrugs him off violently and storms off, his unsteady gait growing more confident by the second. "Suit yourself."

His thoughts are whirling, almost as much as his stomach is. He feels queasy and angry, and he just doesn't know who to direct it to. Bucky is gone, he's fucking _gone_ , walked out the building without anyone stopping him. God knows where he'll be by now - he can just disappear if he wants to.

Steve won't let him. He doesn't want to imagine a life without Bucky in it, in any capacity. He'll get him back, and he'll make sure he can't get out again.

"We'll go to the armoury, find their best trans guns, then the lab. They'll have his type in storage -"

"No point. We're going to the Director." Rumlow interrupts. Steve's stomach plummets; Director Pierce actively tries to involve himself in their activities as little as possible, something about _mea culpa_ and _don't ask don't tell_. If he's involved in whatever fuckery this is, it can't be good.

Steve swallows heavily, unease growing like a thorned thatch in his gut. "Guess you'd better start talking then, because I don't know what the fuck is going on."

"I've been trying to wake you up for the past half hour. Was ready to drag you into the labs myself and see if they couldn't give you an adrenaline shot."

"I don't even remember falling asleep..." he remembers Bucky, stroking his back... his bath...and the shattering of glass. "That fucking milkshake. He drugged me." Betrayal and more confusion paint the already spattered landscape of his emotional limit, which he's quickly reaching.

"Looks like it. We sent in a cadet to wake you up and you fly kicked him through the door. He's in medical right now, internal bleeding and a fractured skull. Hell of a first day, if you ask me."

"Fuck." Steve mutters. His steps are surer, faster, as they reach the elevator. He barely waits for Rumlow to slip inside before punching the number sequence for the Director's floor. "I've been out for a while, then."

"Approximately nineteen hours."

Steve doesn't let himself react. He knows how bad this is. Give Bucky an hour, and he can assimilate himself into any crowd, any situation. Almost an entire day is... it's catastrophic. He could be anywhere by now. But Steve has to hope. He has to.

"Do we have any idea where he's gone?"

"Negative. Destroyed all CCTV on his way out, including multiple exists so we can't tell which one he left from. There's two teams dispatched to do recon."

"And his trackers?"

"Ripped 'em out, by the looks of things. Found them scattered through the hallways. A few trackers here, a few blood smears there, led us on a goddamn wild goose chase through the base. Bought himself time." Rumlow grunts, begrudgingly impressed. "He's good."

"Of course he is." Steve will never not be in awe of Bucky's capabilities. His skill. His raw talent when it comes to what he does. 

Problem is, it'll make it harder to bring him in.

"I'm going after him." Steve says finally after a strained silence. They're almost at Pierce's floor, and he needs to set Rumlow straight.

"Figured you'd say that," he nods. "Will we suit up?"

Steve doesn't even bother looking at him. "Will you hell. You spare pricks compromised your last mission with him. For all we know, your fuck up caused a malfunction and that's why he's gone. You'll wait while I speak to Director Pierce, and receive instruction on what to do next inside the base. I'll do this alone."

"Cap -"

"That's final, Agent Rumlow. Or do you want to add insubordination to your growing list of reasons for me to beat the living shit out of you right now?"

The man quiets, though his pockmarked features twist in a silent snarl. "Understood, _Sir_."

"Took you long enough, _Agent_." Steve bites back. He faces the elevator doors again, steeling himself. They're almost at the Director's floor, and with every passing second the drugs effects leave his system. In their place burns fury at this situation, hurt at Bucky doing this to him, and a grim determination.

The doors finally slide open, and he strides forward toward Director Pierce's office, not looking to see if Rumlow follows. He'll face the music, get reamed out, then receive his marching orders to track down Hydra's asset. And he'll do it, Steve is the best they've got.

He'll bring Bucky in if it's the last thing he does.


	4. 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has his first taste of freedom in decades.

_Cold._

_No...not cold._

_coldcoldcoldicebrrrrcold_

_No._

_nnnnnnnn_

_It's night. The air is cooler outside. But it's not cryo._

_maybe we should just stick him back in the freezer it dont look like hes coping too well how long has it been since he was last frozen too long by the looks of things_

_Not long enough. Never again. I'm out. I'm freeeeEEEEEEZING_

_COLD_

_No._

It's nerves that make him tremble. Some mild opiate withdrawal contributes to it, but mostly it's anxiety. The very knowledge that he's going against decades of conditioning and has left behind Hydra.

_I'm going to be okay. I have food. I have a coat. I have the skills to stay hidden. I just need to keep going. I can't stop._

_ssssssstop_

_GO_

He shakes his head, damp hair slapping lightly across pale cheeks stubbled with midnight. There are no flecks of grey; there may never be.

He's deliberately distressed the jacket and jeans enough to look well-worn, unremarkable, but not enough to look haggard. He wants to avoid attention at all costs. He's already made good progress, reached a few miles from where the base is hidden deep within an innocuous-looking old warehouse in New York. He is already hidden in plain sight and absorbed into the swell of pedestrian traffic, and allows the bustle of people carry him along the city streets. Like a leaf caught in an updraft. Like a shark through silent waters.

Like a ghost, he's gone.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets the roasting of a lifetime.

Shoulders back. Spine straight. Chin tilted upwards - at parade rest, not in arrogance, as much as Steve wants to. The only outward sign of how he's really feeling is the uncontrollable twitch when he swallows down hard, biting back an excuse or retort to one of Pierce's jabs.

He's been "debriefed" (read: given a verbal throttling) for over half an hour now, and Pierce is finally winding down. Steve knows it's not because he's running out of steam; they're cut from a similar cloth, two sides of the same fabric. Pierce could rip into him all day and still find new ways to bring Steve down and drill into the failure of his unit. His organisation.

_Bucky._

"One thing that has been on my mind - troubling me, really, if I'm to be honest - is why the Asset was in your quarters in the first place?" Pierce says after a short pause. 

"He was in horrific condition when STRIKE Alpha brought him down. After I reprimanded the team I brought him to my rooms myself." 

"I see. And why did you deem it appropriate to do so?" 

"From past experience I've noted that more deliberate care after a mission ensures the Asset is more relaxed, therefore more compliant when it comes time for him to back to cryo."

Pierce scoffs a little. "Relaxed? This is the flagship HQ of Hydra North America, Captain Rogers. Not a bloody day spa." Steve feels himself bristle defensively, but maintains position.

"When he goes more willingly to be cryogenically frozen, he returns calmer and therefore easier to handle. Since I started overseeing his aftercare personally, he's accepted his meds without question, and his mind wipes haven't been the huge ordeal that they used to be." Steve knows the pride shines through in his voice. He did that. _He_ did that. He's turned Bucky into a willing participant in his role as the Asset, rather than a prisoner who fights it every step of the way. "Because of his complacency, there has been less need for corrections. Positive reinforcement has done more than punishment to encourage him. He now works with us rather than against us."

"And yet we've all been complacent, haven't we?" Pierce says smoothly. "I ignored your little night-time excursions with the Asset because you've more than earned him as a reward."

Steve feels instantly sick. He'd been so fucking careful. "No, sir - I'd _never_ -"

"Dont feel ashamed Captain, we all need a release." Pierce's eyes spark in twisted amusement. He doesn't care whether Steve is actually fucking Bucky when he takes him in, he just wants him to think that that's what everyone else assumes. What everyone else would do. It has the desired effect. "And don't interrupt me. I also ignored your protocol breaches, your power plays - because quite frankly, a little fear does the faction good. Fear motivates them to do better because they don't want to disappoint. Fear of you keeps them in line. So I cast a blind eye to it and gave you leeway, did I not?"

"Yes, sir." Steve's throat is tight, his heart hammering. His temper is rising like mercury in a thermometer.

"And you in turn have given the Asset leeway. You treated him not as a tool, but as an _equal_." Pierce's lip curls as he speaks, as though the idea of giving Bucky any sort of humanity is revolting to him. Steve's throat burns with words he can't hiss out at the Director. 

"With all due respect Director Pierce, he's a part of our team and should -"

" _He. Is. A. Tool._ " His voice doesn't get louder, but his eyes narrow and he shows his first physical sign of his anger by punctuating each word with a smack to his desk. "He is the Fist of Hydra. A loaded gun. He is a weapon. When I appointed you the position of Asset Handler, you assured me you wouldn't grow attached, regardless of your...history with him."

Steve stiffens; Pierce has seen the files. He knows they'd served together in the war, fought for one another, grew up together. He didn't have to hold the fact Hydra found Steve in the ice before anyone else over his head - the mere mention of Bucky's name was enough to send him scrambling into their arms. All these years and the promise of being reunited was dangled in front of Steve and had been enough to help sway him on who's side he'd rather be on. Now he's in grave danger of fucking it all up; if he hasn't already. 

He knows from experience Hydra don't accept failure. And Steve.... well, he's failed spectacularly.

The Director's cold blue gaze hasn't missed Steve's bristling. He's a shark in deep waters, and he's just caught the scent of blood. Much like Steve he has no compunction about hitting where it hurts. "Well, it's perfectly understandable. Many of his previous handlers over the years grew protective of him. He's a blank canvas. So easy to imprint upon and project whatever you want on him. But you seem to need reminded of the fact that he is _not_ your friend."

Steve opens his mouth to argue back and Pierce's voice lowers, going dangerously soft. Where other men may shout and scream, Alexander Pierce commands attention by quieting himself and forcing others to listen. It's effective, of course. "He isn't, Captain. He is not your old comrade. He is not your friend and he is certainly not your lover. Not any more."

His words hit like a heel to the chest. In his mind's eye, Steve can see himself vaulting over the desk, knocking that stupid fucking miniature statue of a Moa'i and jamming it between Pierce's teeth with a sickening crack. He can see himself stomping on that perfectly coiffed head, over and over with his heavy reinforced boots until his silver hair is clotted with brain matter and his face is nothing but mulch. He can see himself tearing off those dry lips so he can't pucker them in disdain or stretch into a self-satisfied smirk ever again.

He does none of those things.

Instead Steve curls his fists behind his back, nails biting into the meat of his palms, and nods. There's no sound in the room, nothing to break the minutes of awkward, fraught silence that follows until Pierce eventually sighs and pinches his nose.

"He's out there now, and we can't do a damned thing about it except bring him in. I assume you have a plan?"

As it stands, he does. Steve's been running the logistics over in his head since he he stepped foot onto the Director's floor.

He straightens up and nods. "Yes sir." He strides to the large holographic projector, used mainly for private conferences between Pierce and other Hydra factions. "May I?"

The older man raises an eyebrow and gestures forward, then folds his arms across the chest of his tailored suit. "The floor's yours, Captain."

"The Asset's first instinct will be to go to ground. Before every mission, hes briefed on the closest safehouses and bolt holes that he can utilise if things go south. But in this case he's alone, and he won't want to risk crossing paths with us, including accessing weapon caches or accounts." Steve types in an address he's known for the better part of a century, bringing up current satellite feeds of an area he once called home.

"You really think he'd stay in New York?" Pierce scoffs.

"He can't use anything of ours. I believe he's been gaining cognisance for some time now, enough to know to hide it from us and to meticulously plan an escape. He's clearly more in control of himself than he has been in a long time." Steve ignores the pang of betrayal as he waves his hand and pulls up markers in certain streets on the projector. "If his line of thinking has deferred to that of his pre-Hydra days, it makes sense that he would remember places of importance from back then too. The home he grew up in. His old place of work. The grocers he used to deliver from. Our... his old apartment before the war. Prospect Park, lots of homeless there. He could blend in."

Pierce's eyes track Steve's hand as he gestures to each red point in turn, and he leans back to make a show of nonchalance, cleaning his glasses. Steve knows it's because he's still furious with Steve and doesn't want to admit it's a good idea. Prick.

"Alright, you've thought this through for once. What do you need?"

"The Asset's cuffs. An inhibitor band for his arm. I have full access to the armoury, civilian clothing to go incognito with. Maybe some stronger tranq gear."

"You're planning on going alone?"

"Yes sir. I don't trust Alpha after their -"

"If we are choosing teams based on their shortcomings Captain, then you'd do well to remember that at the moment yours have consequences that are far more dire." Pierce says sharply. Steve feels anger flare once more, bites back yet another retort; he's not wrong, and Steve knows he'll never forgive himself for losing Bucky. He just doesn't need to be reminded of that by this self-righteous decrepit cunt. "Alpha are perfectly capable of assisting."

"He trusts me, sir. I know he remembers me. Maybe not much, but enough for me to gain the upper hand."

"Funny that, considering it was _you_ he drugged to escape. You were tricked once Captain, you can be manipulated again."

"Never again." Steve says darkly; he means it. _Never._ "I'll get him, sir. Subdue the Asset and bring him in for immediate recalibration."

"Fine. On the condition STRIKE Alpha remain on standby and you stay in constant contact with them."

As much as Steve doesn't want to be anywhere near them right now, they're his team. They've been through a lot together, and despite everything he knows deep down they have his six. Begrudgingly, he nods. "Understood sir."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Dismissed."

"Yes, sir." Steve swipes his hands once more over the projector, closing it down. He starts to leave, but as he reaches the door Pierce calls over to him.

"You have 72 hours. This is time sensitive, Captain Rogers... you understand the gravity of this situation and that you're to blame for it?"

Steve clenches his teeth so hard they almost shatter, and he very nearly rips the door off the hinges to volley it at Pierce. He gets himself under control, swallows the burning ball of shame and rage and bile, and opens the door gently. "Yes, Director Pierce."

"Get going then. Bring the Asset in from the cold or else."

Steve doesn't trust himself to say anything that isn't a snarl, so he says nothing as he marches back to the elevator. He can feel himself stewing and focusing that energy down until it's white hot, channeling it into a searing focus that tunnels his vision into the task ahead. _Bring the Asset in from the cold. Bring Bucky home._

He isn't surprised in the slightest to see Rumlow waiting inside when the doors roll open, looking mighty more humble than earlier. 

"So what's the plan, Cap?" He asks, moving aside to let him in.

"Assemble Alpha. We roll out in forty-five minutes." Steve can feel calm settling over him as he runs through his plan in his mind; he's in control once more. He flashes Rumlow a shark-like grin as the elevator doors roll smoothly shut. "Let's get our boy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note! The chapters are of varying length deliberately, and I've been a bit late updating because of real life. But expect the next update this week: we catch up with Bucky and where he's at. I've loved reading your comments and theories on this so far - keep 'em coming!  
> I can only apologise in advance, because shit's about to get dark. Mind the tags!


End file.
